Page 16 of One Knight
The destriers surrounded poor Alger’s cart in moments. They must have been camped on the other side of the ridge without a fire.
His old nag came to a halt, no match for the black warhorses.
Elisande ignored her screaming thighs and rode directly between Sir Geoffrey and a soldier. She threw herself off her horse and pitched to the ground.
“My lady!”
She didn’t know who had yelled to her. The only thought in her mind was,I must get to Hilda first.
She stumbled to her feet and gripped the side of the cart to keep herself upright.
“Lady Elisande!”
“Eli!” Alger’s tone radiated shock as he reached for her.
“Don’t touch her, boy, or it will be the last thing you do.”
Alger’s hands yanked backward immediately at Sir Henry’s threat.
“Where is she?” Elisande asked, skirting around the side of the cart without waiting for a response.
“In the back,” Alger said quietly.
Elisande tore the blanket off, revealing shining blonde hair. “Oh, thank God you’re okay.” Elisande vaulted into the cart, her aches and pains forgotten as she hugged Hilda to her chest.
Hilda giggled, as if they were playing hide-and-seek and she’d just been found.
Elisande rocked her against her body, uncaring what was happening around her. All she cared was that Hilda was safe.
“Eli, it’s bumpy. Bumpy, bumpy, bumpy.”
“I know, darling. Bumpy, bumpy, bumpy. Are you okay?”
“Cold.”
“Of course, darling.”
Elisande wrapped the blanket that had been covering her around her shoulders. Hilda’s blonde hair stood out like an angel’s halo.
“Lady Hilda.” Sir Henry’s voice came from behind Elisande.
Hilda giggled and reached for the doll on the floor of the cart.
Elisande looked over her shoulder at Sir Henry, watching confusion line his features as Hilda clutched it to her chest.
“Mine,” she said to him in her childlike voice. “Eli, bumpy, bumpy, bumpy.” She bounced with her doll.
Sir Henry’s gaze locked on Elisande. “What didn’t you tell me?” His attention cut to the girl who appeared to be a full-grown woman, but whose words and actions said otherwise.
“Hilda, this is Sir Henry.”
“Henry,” Hilda repeated in a singsong voice, but her eyes stayed glued on her beloved doll.
“Sir Henry, this is my niece, Lady Hilda.”
Never in Henry’s life had he been more surprised. The girl was simple. She was angelic in appearance, but simple.
His men were silent, surrounding the cart and the Saxon at its reins.
